


sure as you breathe, I am there inside you

by lavenderandroses



Series: come to my garden: my jonsa blossoms [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU wherein Jon IS a bleedin' poet, Angst with a Happy Ending, But otherwise, Canon Universe, F/M, Implied Dark!Dany but we're not diving into that here, Jonsa Spring Blossom Challenge, Mid and post Dance of Dragons 2.0, Post S7, Sullivan Ballou letter, day seven: letters, post war for the dawn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-27 05:41:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18190490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderandroses/pseuds/lavenderandroses
Summary: The war had been over, he had come home safe. But then the dragons began to dance once more, and he was gone, and she was alone. Almost.Title from "How Could I Ever Know?" from the musical The Secret Garden, by Lucy Simon and Marsha Norman.This story quotes and paraphrases the last letter of Major Sullivan Ballou, a famous missive from the U.S. Civil War.





	sure as you breathe, I am there inside you

**Author's Note:**

> Sullivan Ballou, a Rhode Island attorney and politician, enlisted in the 2nd Rhode Island Infantry after the beginning of the United States Civil War. His enlistment was a response to President Lincoln's plea for volunteers, and Ballou's deep love for country, home, and the cause of the Union led him into a war from which he would not return. During preparation for the First Battle of Manassas, where he would in fact meet his death, he penned a now-famous letter to his wife and sons in case he were to fall.   
> Jon's letter in this story borrows his words, far more beautiful than I could ever put to paper, which have been meaningful to millions of survivors of casualties of wars. You can read more about Major Ballou at https://www.nps.gov/resources/story.htm%3Fid%3D253  
> I also threw in a quote from the GoT episode "Valar Morghulis," from Daenery's vision of Khal Drogo in the House of the Undying.

Standing upon Winterfell’s battlements to welcome the haggard group of fighters home, Sansa could only think how very different it was from the last such occasion. While it had been in the midst of the dark winter and the losses had been great, when the Night King and his army of dead things had been vanquished there had been a sense of victory and relief, perhaps even hope, when those who had fought and lived returned to Winterfell’s gates. Sansa herself had felt that hope, and she had let that feeling get the best of her when she took her cousin into her arms, and into her bed.

She closed her eyes, willing away the tears and dread that sprang anew as their last night together came unbidden to her mind.

_Would that she never had to leave his arms again. Bedding him may have been a mistake, especially since he was still pledged in name to the Dragon Queen, but the mistake had been made so many times now that this night certainly made no difference. Daenerys had flown back to Dragonstone hastily, leaving Jon to enjoy his home and regroup the Northmen before he was due to set out to join her in the Neck in three weeks’ time. As a gesture of their continued pact, she had left Rhaegal behind so that Jon may ride him when they rejoined, as he had done in the Battle for the Dawn. Sansa would not have had it, but Rhaegal had been much more manageable since Jon had become his rider and was not so much of a threat to the smallfolk as his brother. As it were, they should have had another week together to enjoy the intimacy that his safe return and their mutual relief had sparked, but with a burst of raven scrolls, everything had changed._

_“Who will I trust to watch over you, now that your aunt will be your enemy? She and I may not have enjoyed each other, but at least I knew she would do her best to keep you alive.”_

_Jon’s arms tightened around her, drawing her more closely to his chest. She nosed at the scar over his heart in response._

_“I know you thought it all foolish, even after I told you the truth of my actions. I had hoped that she might still make a better ruler than Cersei.”_

_Sansa lifted her head to meet his eyes that were still darkened with his desire for her even though he had spent in her twice already that evening. “It was easy for me to think it foolish. I wasn’t the one who had to make that decision. Our alliance with her has been both a curse and a blessing, and I could never fault you for trying to rid the kingdoms of Cersei’s malice. I just wish it had not come to this so soon.”_

_Her cheek returning to his chest, she continued. “We can only hope Tyrion can play his part. Between you and him and Ser Jaime, perhaps we may yet be able to rid ourselves of two queens. But, Jon?” she lifted her head once more, and his inclined to meet her sparkling gaze. “You must come back to me afterwards, whether you decide to accept the crown or not. There will be crops to plant, homes to rebuild, and weddings to plan. After all, spring is coming.”_

The smile he had given her, as well as the unburdened way he had embarked on that evening’s third coupling, haunted her just as much as the fear that he hadn’t completely managed to hide from her. In the morning, he had left again, this time on the back of a dragon. _Gods willing, when this is over, there would be no more dragons in Westeros_ , she had thought. She may have been too right.

When she opened her eyes anew, the ragged band had come almost to the gate. She couldn’t make out his face amongst the returners. There was Tormund, somehow still standing after everything he had seen; a group of free folk she knew to be siblings and cousins, though their numbers had dwindled; sons and brothers of Northern lords whose houses had lived to see another spring. For spring it was. The snow had begun to melt between showers, which were coming less and less often. Birds were returning, flowers beginning to bud. With the spring should come hope, but the hope that the winter’s soldiers had brought home wasn’t to be found today. While indeed they were two queens fewer and a provisional government had been set up in King’s Landing under Tyrion’s watch, this return felt like a defeat.

The Lady Ser Brienne, knighted for true by Ser Jaime after the last war, was at the helm of the flock, nodding to Sansa as the gates were opened to them. Sansa turned to greet them in the courtyard. _Just because you haven’t seen him doesn’t mean he’s not coming_. She reflexively rubbed a hand over her belly, the swell almost imperceptible still.

“My Lady,” Brienne hailed her, even more solemn than usual. As if she understood the question in Sansa’s eyes, she bowed her head. “My Lady, I would have you sit before we would speak.”

“Brienne, please,” Sansa whispered. Her words were so foreboding Sansa could barely breathe. “Brienne, where is he?”

Sansa poured every ounce of authority she had been trained to wield into her face now as Brienne warred with what to tell her. “My Lady, if you would let me accompany you to your solar that we may ta—“

“Brienne.”

The big woman took a slow, shaky breath.

“My Lady. Sansa. The King in the North was last seen in aerial combat with the Dragon Queen. When it was finished, we found the remains of Daenerys and the two dragons, but your cousin was not found. We sent out search parties; we waited for several weeks. There has been no sign of him.”

Sansa knew there was no blood left in her face, and only sheer will kept her standing.

“And my sister?”

“Arya returned to us after taking care of her unfinished business in King’s Landing. She was healthy, unhurt, but she did not take the news of His Grace’s disappearance well. She would not return with us, insisting she would stay to find him, no mat. She was healthy, unhurt, but she did not take the news of His Grace’s disappearance well. She would not return with us, insisting she would stay to find him, no matter how long it took.”

_Betrayed again by my sister_. Sansa could no longer contain the sob that had built in her chest, though she remained upright. _How dare she neglect to return to me when we are all that we have left, for surely if Jon could not come back on his own, there will be nothing left to find._

Not wishing to mar the return of her countrymen with her devastation, she made to return to her rooms, but was stilled when Brienne called to her once more.

“My Lady, I have something for you. Something Jon gave to me days before the battle, to bring to you in the event he did not return home.” As she handed Sansa the scroll, her gaze softened. “I desperately hoped I would not have to carry out his orders.”

Sansa willed herself not to run back to her chambers, but found herself dashing along the final corridors to lock herself in her rooms. Jon’s notes from both battlefields had been one of her only comforts during the war; they found that he expressed himself in ways neither of them came to expect. But only to Sansa. Only borne out of his love for her.

She smoothed the parchment upon her desk.

_My dearest Sansa,_

_I cannot describe to you my feelings on this calm spring night, when two thousand men are sleeping around me; many of them enjoying the last, perhaps, before that of death. Indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days, perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write you again, I feel impelled to write a few lines, that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more._

_Sansa, my love for you is deathless. It seems to bind me with mighty cables, that nothing but all the gods that ever lived can break; and yet, my love of the North comes over me like a strong wind, and bears me irresistibly on with all those chains, to the battlefield. The memories of all the blissful moments I have spent with you come crowding over me. How hard it is for me to give them up, and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when, gods willing, we might still have lived and loved together._

_I know I may have used up any fortune the gods deigned to bless me with, but I must have hope that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not, my dear Sansa, never forget how much I love you, nor that, when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name._

_Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless, how foolish I have oftentimes been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears, every little spot upon your happiness, and struggle with all the misfortune of this world, to shield you from harm._

_But, O Sansa, if the dead can come back to this earth, and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you in the garish day, and the darkest night amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours always, always, and, if the soft breeze fans your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air cools your throbbing temples, it shall be my spirit passing by._

_Ever faithfully yours, and, if I should see this through alive, your devoted husband,_

_Jon_

Only now did Sansa allow her grip on consciousness to fade into the darkness of grief.

~

The snow had now gone completely. The white raven had come, announcing to all what Sansa already knew: winter, the season of the Starks, was over. There had been no true word of Jon, and Arya had not returned to her. Bran had been lost with the Long Night. Sansa was the only Stark in Winterfell once more, and never had she felt so alone.

What irony, then, that she was never alone, and that soon she would not be the only Stark in Winterfell, and what cruelty that the thought barely brought her any relief from her pain. What a joy a babe would have been if that babe’s father had not vanished from the very face of the earth, if that babe’s aunt had come home to console her grieving sister. Instead, the little one inside her brought Sansa only tears. What kind of mother could she be if every sight of her child made her weep? She had long told herself she could face that trial when it arrived, but its arrival was coming closer and closer. It had been eight moons since Jon had ridden away upon Rhaegal’s back. The babe would be here in no more than a month, if not in a fortnight or less.

As when the girl Sansa had been a captive in King’s Landing, she had found it to be true here as well that the Godswood was one place she could go where no one would talk to her. She still didn’t pray. She only remembered, and tried to catch her sorrows as they passed through her mind that she might make sense of them and begin to find some small ounce of healing. Some days it was harder than others, and she was never confident that she had made much progress.

_Will it be harder to come here when the babe arrives?_ It had already become more difficult the larger she had grown to traipse into the woods to the heart tree. _No, the babe shall accompany me. Perhaps it and I will be able to make peace together here, away from the eyes of others but in the eyes of the old gods._ Sansa shivered. Sometimes it still felt as though Bran watched her when she sat here, a thought that had become more of a comfort than a trouble.

A sudden pain brought her hand to her belly. She was calm; if the baby was coming, it would still be healthy, but Maester Wolkan had assured her as well that she would experience some false pains going forward. To be safe, she pulled herself to her feet and made her way back toward the inner castle. As she approached the iron gate that separated the Godswood from the keep, she began to hear the makings of a commotion in the direction of the great gates. _Probably another family come to offer the first of their spring yields_. It was customary, in the spring, for the Lords of Winterfell to accept tribute from other great houses and smallfolk alike, but Sansa hadn’t been able to bring herself to care. She walked in the other direction, back toward the walls where she could seclude herself once more.

“My lady! My lady! Lady Sansa!” Sansa cringed, but masked her disappointment at being caught as she turned to see who had called to her. “My lady, you must come at once!”

If she had been able to access any of her emotions, she might have felt ashamed that she couldn’t remember the lad’s name. He had fought for her house in both the recent wars, and been awarded lands and honors, but she couldn’t place him. She supposed she owed it to him to at least feign interest. With a sigh, she followed him toward the courtyard she had so long avoided.

_I suppose it may be the Glovers, we haven’t heard from them yet. Or the Cerwyns, though gods know if they will even be able to plant this year._ Upon entrance to the courtyard, Sansa thought it must just be a family of smallfolk, for only three disheveled figures stood in the heart of the crowd, their faces turned from her to address Maester Wolkan and Lady Ser Brienne. She could not decipher Brienne’s look to her as she came near them, but no longer needed to as the first figure, the tallest, turned her way.

_Gendry?_

Her breath was stolen from her chest, as though the icy winds of winter ripped through her once more. Gendry was here. Gendry was standing in her courtyard. If this tallest man was Gendry, then the “boy” with him must be—

“ _Arya?”_ Sansa knew not whether her whisper could be heard by anyone but herself, but the first glimpse of a profile confirmed that hope. And surely, if Arya had come home, and there was a final, dark-haired companion yet to show his face, then—

Sansa finally, after months of standing tall, fell to her knees and let her cries be heard to all the North.

There was shouting and running and a flurry of bannermen ready to come to her aid but she waved them away until only one set of knees hit the ground in front of her. The hands that belonged to the knees started up, as if to take her face in them, but paused when they found her rounded belly. They tentatively reached to touch it as her mind begged her to wake up from her dream, for surely she was dreaming, but _oh._ When the hands met her person, she _knew_ their warmth. She _knew_ their touch, knew their lines, knew their strengths and joys and fears. _If this is a dream, I will kill the man that wakes me._ For, best of all, she _knew_ the dark eyes that met hers when she dared lift her face, eyes that took in her face and the evidence of their growing babe in pure awe. For one infinite, breathless moment, there were only the two (three, in truth) of them in the courtyard, in the North, in the entire world.

Some would say, in years to come, that the Great Spring did not truly arrive in Winterfell until the lips of the King of the Seven Kingdoms were reunited with those of the Queen in the North on their knees in that courtyard, and that the flowers bloomed all at once when they said their vows that evening. Whether this was true or not is hard to say; but the great prosperity of the Kingdoms under the rule of Jon and Sansa Stark, firsts of their names, and their descendants, would be remembered until the end of days.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for bearing with me through this spring event, which I managed to make more angst-filled than I believe was the intention of the prompts. I will be looking more closely at your kind comments and notes now that I have this posted. Maybe now I'll be able to knock through some of my writer's block on my WIP!


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